


A IS FOR ATOM: Eisenhardt

by SILKCUT



Series: ɪɴꜱᴄʀɪʙᴇᴅ ʙʏ ꜱɪʟᴋᴄᴜᴛ [18]
Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Inscribed by SILKCUT, Prejudice, Racism, Slurs, Twitter Solo Roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-16 06:01:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29077524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SILKCUT/pseuds/SILKCUT
Summary: His grandfather's hand, so sturdy even with old age, remained wrapped around his own. There was a tenderness in how he held the boy; the prelude of a goodbye.“Be strong, Erik,” the old man raised their clasped hands so he could graze the boy's knuckles against his lips. A portion of the red hat that touched his grandfather’s chin also caught some of the tears the old man shed.“You have to be stronger than the rest of us.”
Series: ɪɴꜱᴄʀɪʙᴇᴅ ʙʏ ꜱɪʟᴋᴄᴜᴛ [18]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2132040





	A IS FOR ATOM: Eisenhardt

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Ｍａｘ Ｅｉｓｅｎｈａｒｄｔ

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## Ａ ｉｓ ｆｏｒ ＡＴＯＭ: Eɪꜱᴇɴᴅʜᴀʀᴅᴛ

##  **༻✧**

There was too much death that surrounded so many families in those months.

What a hollowed thing too, this death, and how it reduced everyone into nothing more but shambles of bones and dirt.

Of some miraculous feat, Erik and his own family escaped detention for four days. It was him, his mother and grandfather, and three younger cousins (a boy named Gerhard with his twin sisters Johanna and Klara) who were left to traverse the more remote tunnels under the city as the murderers marched exactly above them. They scurried away like rats, armed with nothing but prayer. In time, fear will gradually teach them to be unmindful of hunger and fatigue.

A fate more gruesome awaits if they ever, for even a second of false reprieve, allow their collective strength to falter. Erik was twelve, and he just vaguely understood why they were being hunted to begin with. All he knew was that the boys in school have jeered at him for months now and often called him with names which his mother warned him not to listen to or ask questions about.

He looked at said woman now with apprehension and concern. They were just about to walk into a particularly dank sewer, but it was too dark to see anything. Erik could tell by the way his mother and grandfather whispered harshly to one another that they can’t make a decision whether or not to cross or just stay hidden on this spot.

Meanwhile, the children grew restless as Klara huddled close until her forehead touched Erik's abdomen where she began to sob softly against. He was the oldest of the four (his boy cousin only two weeks away from his ninth birthday while the girls were six), which was why he felt the need to take charge and gather them to him now.

He stretched his arms as if he meant to create a cocoon and keep them safe inside his embrace forever. Erik knew that he could not, but his foolish attempt at hope should at least mean something to them, here in the ever-deepening dark.

  


## ➷

Desperate times had driven their family to dangerous measures, but there was no harm in relying on the kindness of strangers as well.

Four days ago, they escaped being drafted by the authorities when a neighbor—who was also a sympathiser to their plight—hid and drove them inside a carriage. They followed a route that took them to the next city where they then circumvented checkpoints using falsified documents Erik's uncle acquired for the family before he was inevitably captured.

He remembered that his mother had worn this red hat, a favorite of hers. She managed to hold onto it even when they had to abandon what little possessions they have left. They had to pack light after all, with only the simplest of provisions to keep them alive until they leave Germany for good and never look back.

Now, Erik has always liked that color on her. He also wanted to cheer her up that night and so he told his mother that she looked very pretty with that hat. She smiled at least, but something about its weariness just made it unnatural on her face. It made him look down at his faded black boots as if ashamed upon witnessing it.

That was when his grandfather seized the hat all of a sudden. He scolded his mother next for even putting it on, since the bright color would only call attention to their already suspicious party. Nonetheless, he tucked the hat under his garments for safe keeping, probably because he noticed how sad his daughter-in-law became after he had reprimanded her.

“You can wear it again once we get out of Europe, Ruth,” he reached to clutch at her hand. She didn’t squeeze back exactly, though she did stare into his eyes as he went on, “America will grant us sanctuary. It is the only place as of now that’s untouched by the war. I know someone who will provide us means to get into the lower quarters of the first ferryboat headed to New York. From there, we can worry about what the young'uns would eat.”

“Will they have cakes there, opa?” Johanna, the more communicative of the twins, chirped at the mention of food. Her dark hair was loose across her shoulders, a mess of untamed curls. It was a contrast to her sister's who had always worn her hair in a tight bun above her head.

Their grandfather offered a ready grin towards Johanna as he said, “All the sweets in the world until your tummy bursts, Jo…” and then he reached to poke the girl on the side. She scooted away with a squeal and swatted their grandfather’s hand away.

Klara and Gerhard followed suit and tickled Johanna until she slipped out of her seat and struggled to keep quiet. Neither adult stopped the children from enjoying themselves. Even Erik had to admit that the sound of strained laughter combined with the smiles of his cousins somewhat alleviated the weight of dread that had settled on his heart.

But Erik was old enough to see the traces of fatigue and trepidation on his mother and grandfather’s eyes as they shared a glance. It spoke volumes and reflected one another’s uncertainty for the future. For his part, the boy ended up sitting closer to the old man. His voice trembled when he requested, “May I keep Mama's hat for her instead?”

His grandfather narrowed his eyes but didn’t question the oddness of this moment. He merely retrieved the folded hat from the deepest pockets of his coat and then handed it to Erik.

Their hands lingered on one another for a few moments as the vibrant red of the hat etched itself between the gaps in their fingers. Without realizing it, Erik squeezed the old man's hand with such a strong desperation like he almost didn’t want to let go ever again.

Eyes now blurred with tears, he shut them tight until he felt the warm wetness flow down his cheeks.

“Erik,” he heard his mother speak next, though only faint, like an echo from miles away. He could not bear to see that forlorn sadness in her face again, so he dared not look.

Instead, when he at last opened his eyes, he stared right at his grandfather. The lines on his face looked more prominent than usual, something the boy has never noticed before. They resembled the ones that divided territories in a worn-out map, with the tiny moles and freckles that served as islands.

These islands all looked familiar and lonesome to Erik somehow. He supposed they might as well have been the many homes he had growing up, where a large, extended family blessed with so many aunts and uncles and cousins gather to celebrate, pray, mourn and endure the years together.

And now, there were only six of them left.

His grandfather's hand, so sturdy even with old age, remained wrapped around his own. There was a tenderness in how he held the boy; the prelude of a goodbye.

“Be strong, Erik,” the old man raised their clasped hands so he could graze the boy's knuckles against his lips. A portion of the red hat that touched his grandfather’s chin also caught some of the tears the old man shed.

“You have to be stronger than the rest of us.”

  


## ➷

Those with any real power would never assault the weak or anyone deemed different in their eyes, yet in those terrible years, power was misused and weaponized for damning propaganda. Families were torn apart, only to be labeled as freaks and deviants. They were lined up in front of shooting squads or paraded in towns whilst hordes of bigots gnashed their teeth at them like rabid dogs.

This is what the world looked like above them, and if Erik knew then what awaited outside these tunnels, he would have euthanized the rest of his family. It would have been act of mercy because, at least, they could all be peaceful together in death.

After what seemed like hours, his mother and grandfather finally made a decision to cross the sewer that would lead to the other side of the city, which actually also takes them closer to the exit point. The gates were bound to be heavily guarded, and that in itself presented a terrifying difficulty.

They weren’t the first Jewish family in the entire country who are presently attempting to escape persecution after all, and as much as the adults tried to keep his younger cousins from knowing any more details of this hunt, the same could not be said for Erik. He had kept his ears peeled in the last two days for any news, which mostly consisted of unofficial reports on brutalities that assailed those who didn’t stand a chance to get away themselves.

He'd like to embrace the convenient delusion that these dark tales were nothing more but rumor and hearsay, but he saw for himself, not too long ago, those pale faces and unblinking eyes that belonged to a dozen uniformed men as they patrolled the streets of their old neighboorhood. If ghouls were ever real, then this was the era they reigned and ran amok.

There have been weeks prior in which a few riots had broken out in the streets already. They’ve begun as shouting matches over removing certain signage in stores until they quickly devolved into fisticuffs. But when the police came, they arrested the wrong people and let off the real instigators with nothing more but a feigned warning of a misdemeanor.

Erik will never forget the dread that came with losing a battle he had no idea he and his kin were even fighting. It happened in the shadows too, where the poison spread in people's minds and corroded any sense of right and wrong they may have. And then came the unveiling, the witch hunts. The one who declared himself supreme along with his cronies had found so many platforms to proclaim their collective disgust and vehemence; in the airwaves of radio broadcasts, in the ink of bold letters on newspapers. They printed out a sentiment so vile and acidic that it was a shock it didn’t melt the paper itself.

And the masses were swayed. They clamored to vilify a race they were so quick to cast out as enemies, blinded and enraged by falsehoods spoken frequently enough by a charismatic warmonger that they became uncontested convictions.

They were the very same words Erik had heard from the mouths of his own classmates as a few chased him down with brooms, claiming they wanted a cleanse through brimstone and fire.

It was around midnight four days ago when Erik had been startled awake by inexplicable noises coming from several distant, neighboring houses all at once. Things were breaking, colliding against walls and floors. And the screams—gutteral and pleading— might as well have punctured holes through anyone else who would have heard.

He had rushed down the staircase to follow after his uncle, Hermann and grandfather, but then he saw Gerhard hiding behind a couch in the living room and decided to attend to the younger boy first. His cousin was thinner than he remembered, or perhaps it was because he had put on a robe whose size was that for a fully-grown adult. Erik's first guess was that it used to be worn by his other uncle, Günter, who was Gerhard and the twins' father.

When Erik’s own father passed away three years ago, he had put on the man's shirts to bed for months as a way to cope with the loss. The scent of someone who will never be there ever again made his nine-year old self forget that awful truth at least while he slept. So he knew in an instant that Gerhard was doing the same, and with the rampage going on outside their home, it was almost like the cousins have lost their fathers all over again.

But when Erik held out his arms towards the younger boy to console him, Gerhard only stared back at him and asked, “When is it going to be? Tonight, do you think?”

“What do you mean, liebling?” he sounded too nervous as he spoke, but he curtailed that anxiety and tried his darndest to appear brave for his cousin.

Again, Gerhard only stared at him as if he couldn’t even recognize Erik. It was only after the gunshots and Uncle Hermann rushing past towards the twins' room that Gerhard latched himself at last to his older cousin. He was shivering so badly that Erik was afraid that if he held him too tightly that the boy might break.

Their grandfather called out to his mother next, instructing her to pack what was crucial and leave the rest. Uncle Hermann appeared back into the living room whilst carrying Klara. Johanna trailed behind them. She was trying to put on one sock back on her sister's foot. It had somehow shed itself off, and she kept saying Klara would get her foot dirty and that she’d be cold without it.

But the adults busied themselves with more pressing concerns. Uncle Hermann put down Klara for a moment so he could retrieve the documents he had spent some time forging weeks ago in anticipation for this very imminent danger.

“It's going to be tonight, isn’t it, Erik?” Gerhard mumbled softly as he withdrew from his cousin. With wide, unseeing eyes he added, “Papa always knew they would come for us.”

“What’s happening tonight?” Johanna dragged Klara through their linked hands as she now stared at her brother with a light scowl. “You’re scaring us again! Erik, tell Gerhard that this isn’t funny.”

Erik wanted to lie to the girls himself, but his mother had come between him and the children, ordering him in a hushed tone to help with the packing.

“Take only a few clothes for you, Gerhard and the twins,” she said while she frantically half-pushed him into the hallway, “And if you had any money saved from the chores and jobs you did back in summer, tuck it inside your undergarments and keep it safe!”

Their gazes lingered for one breathless moment. The way her eyes have gone red and puffy yet still clear with purpose made him want to rush to her and hold her close. But then she barked at him, “Go, Erik! We need to leave now or we never will!”

Back in the tunnels, the family of six sought refuge towards the other side of the sewer. Erik's cousins held onto him. The twins had their arms linked together around his waist on either side whilst Gerhard trailed behind with his palm pressed on the older boy’s back.

“Quietly now, lieblings,” his mother said while she held onto their grandfather’s hand the entire time as he led them. Navigating the dank narrow passage as polluted air kept threatening to make them cough and gag was no small feat, as Erik had to stay resolute in his footing too since he had the twins to guide and Gerhard still clutching on his back whom he has to make sure didn’t fall behind.

After what seemed like an hour when in reality it must have only been fifteen minutes, the family emerged together out of the tunnels. Erik had almost stopped breathing because of the smell earlier but once finally outside with the fresh air from the trees to help alleviate some of that stink, he exhaled and then breathed in gulps, chuckling in relief.

Gerhard and the twins were smiling now too, ever bright-eyed even as the fatigue was still apparent in the way their bodies moved. Soot and other undesirable blotches covered their faces and hands, but overall their appearance could have been way worse.

Their grandfather grinned and opened his arms towards Klara and Johanna now, who would have immediately jumped towards the chance when—from a short distance—a gun was fired.

The bullet hits Klara on her foot.

She screamed and held onto her sister who was the one nearest to her. Their grandfather used himself to shield the girls from further assault. Erik, meanwhile, ran towards his mother who shouted, “No! Gerhard!”

The bullets sliced harshly in the open air, booming as they splattered against soft tissue and marrow.

It was followed by his grandfather howling. The gutteral sound was almost that of a wounded old animal who had never felt more helpless until that moment.

Erik stopped on his tracks and sharply turned around to get to his cousin, but once he faced that direction he saw he was too late. The younger boy choked once, twice, as tears and spittle smeared across his cheeks and chin. His eyes went vacant, shoulders slack. Three bullet holes punctured his chest.

Blood poured out of Gerhard’s dusty shirt, red like nothing Erik had ever seen before.

‘Papa always knew they would come after us.’

Erik was only able to catch Gerhard in time before his body could fall. He held and shook him while stuck in a state of disbelief even as death stared back at him. But his cousin was still so warm, eyes open and ever so brown. Why did I leave you behind? I should have made sure you were safe first.

“Her sock!” Johanna was sobbing out just a few feet away from Erik, “Opa, her sock is too dirty now! Why is it red?”

Klara wasn’t crying at all which prompted Erik to turn his head towards the direction of his relatives. Johanna had both her hands wrapped around her twin's foot. More blood gushed through the sock, staining her pale, tiny fingers. Meanwhile, their grandfather had shed his coat to wrap it around Klara who still wasn’t saying a word. She’s alive, Erik knew, but perhaps the pain was too immense that her mind refused to register it.

The younger twin had always been so meek. She hasn’t began speaking until last year too. It was only after their uncle took them to see the carnival one time that the mimes who worked there had caught Klara's attention. It was the mimes' muteness that perhaps triggered a reflex in the girl to try speaking at long last, just when everyone thought she truly did not posses the ability of speech.

She asked, “Are they sad like me, Onkel Hermie?”

Erik wondered now as he stared unblinkingly at the little girl if the reason for her own muteness before was because she had been sad.

Will she ever be happy again after this?

He tightened his hold on Gerhard and wept.

But then his mother rushed to pull Erik away from grasping onto his dead cousin, begging him to stand up. He had fought her off because he simply could not take the pain anymore and wanted to lay beside Gerhard.

This wasn’t supposed to happen, it's not happening…we were all going to make it. That’s the plan.

Only after he heard the marching of boots and saw from the corner of his eye that two armed men had just grabbed his grandfather and tore him away from the girls did Erik snap out of it.

He didn’t know where his energy came from but in the next instant he hurled himself towards one of the men and clawed and bit in any portion of the bastard's arm he could reach.

Strong, he thought, I have to be stronger than the rest—no matter how it hurts—for family.

“Stop! Don’t hurt the boy!” His grandfather punched the soldier before he could pull the gun on Erik and shoot. Two more men came forward and subdued them both until they had no choice but to surrender. The first thing Erik did was to scoop Johanna and Klara, but they were too heavy and his arms had grown too weak especially after one of the soldiers almost broke his left.

His grandfather rushed to take the girls instead whilst his mother reached out to embrace Erik from behind. Her tears soaked the top of his head as she whispered, “Don’t fight. It's done, Erik.”

Her fingers splayed across his chest, trembling yet holding onto his shirt as if she can find both strength and comfort in doing so.

A man walked over to examine them. Judging by his uniform and gait alone, he had to be the commander of this unit. There was nothing in his eyes at all as he told his men, “Take the woman and the boy back to the camps. But this old Jew—” his eyes traveled downwards to the twins next.

Without warning, Johanna kicked him on the shin. It made no real impact except to make the commander look briefly surprised before he just laughed it off, saying, “—and the whimpering Jewess curs will go to the pile like the rest.”

Pile? Erik's eyes widened in abject horror and fear as he glanced up to his mother, “Where are they taking opa and the girls, Mama?”

But she was addressing the commander instead. Erik would never forget this moment and how he could not bear the haunted look in his mother’s tear-stained eyes and the way her voice cracked as she begged the first of many monsters they would have to serve from that day forward.

“Please!” She stretched out an arm, her fingers clawing at air as she did, “My father-in-law is still strong. He can work like the other men! And my nieces…” If she wasn’t holding onto Erik, he could tell she would have collapsed already, “…please, please, anything but that!”

“Count your blessings,” the man kept his hands behind his back. The formality of his stance was such a stark contrast to the cruelty spilling from his lips, “At least you have your boy. So hold him close,” His eyes then shifted to meet Erik’s, all while smiling the entire time, “...because goodbye would come sooner than you think...”

He turned away and gestured at the men who then took hold of Erik's grandfather and cousins so they can be dragged to a direction in the woods.

The commander kept walking as he remarked, “…especially to dirty, dirty Jews.”

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**[@MAGNANIMOUSRAGE](https://twitter.com/magnanimousrage) **

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